


Distractions of the Phallic Variant

by Patchwork drabbles (PurplePatchwork)



Series: RusAme Drabbles [57]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:45:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8186366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurplePatchwork/pseuds/Patchwork%20drabbles
Summary: Only Alfred knows how to make a huge distraction out of eating a corn dog. Rated M for implications.





	

His own sober meal lay long forgotten on the tray before him, the tea well on its way to cooling off completely. Ivan feigned indifference as he leant his chin into his right hand, fingers strategically covering the thin lips as he occasionally felt the tip of pink pry them apart to dart over the soft surface. His other hand lay on top of his knee, balled into a tight fist, wishing it had something to hold onto. His legs were tensely drawn together, only a crowbar having the chance of tearing them open to reveal how… interesting he found the display before him. Darkened amethysts honed in on the man seated across from him, all but unblinking. He should _not_ be turned on by this. And yet, here they were.

Ivan hadn't thought anything of it when Alfred had asked him if that seat was taken. _No_ , he had informed him, _you can sit if you want to._ Alfred had flashed him a telltale smile - really, he should have been suspicious to his intentions from that exact moment, but had decided it was a mere fling of his imagination and let it slide - and pulled the chair back with a lot of noise. His other hand was holding one of those greasy snacks he so desired, the golden brown crust piled atop a small stick making Ivan's insides churn. He happily continued eating his own lunch of a thick, healthy broth with black bread, when his eyes flickered up and witnessed… whatever this was.

Alfred was slightly leaning over the table, arm casually placed atop the surface to support his weight as he ate his "corn dog" (not an actual dog)... or, perhaps "ate" was the wrong word. People didn't eat that which they admired like a deity, and that was exactly the look Alfred reserved for this deep fried snack.

His blue eyes were hooded into a dazed contentedness, staring almost fondly at the snack which he held before him. Any moment now, Ivan expected him to burst into song or poem, praising his food for its deliciousness and… strangely phallus-shaped baked crispiness. That, however, wasn't even half as bad as what he did with his _mouth_.

Instead of just biting down on his meal, devouring it like he would any other, Alfred seemed to opt for a much slower approach with this devilish _thing_. First wetting his lips, he only used his tongue to give small swift licks to the top of the corn dog, swiping away the smallest layer of crust. After each five licks, his tongue darted over his mouth again, only succeeding in adding a small layer of grease to his plump lips, having them glisten in the bright shine of the fluorescent lighting.

Then, for some reason, still not biting, he tipped his head slightly to the side and started mouthing his way up and down the side of the snack, incorporating more small licks and happy hums, eyes narrowing further in what could only be described as a borderline erotic bliss. Something had tightened in Ivan's gut when he witnessed that scandalous behaviour, the first warning that he should have looked away to save his own, innocent soul. But alas, he didn't. Against better judgement, he continued to watch each and every move Alfred made, the squirming inside growing more intense.

After Alfred went up to the top again, he took in between his lips, giving languid suckles as his eyelashes fluttered along his cheekbones. He practically _moaned_ as he took it in further, letting his tongue swirl along the wettened crust. He pulled off again with an all but obscene wet plop, a string of saliva still connecting him and the treat. He lapped lazily at the tip- _top_ of the corn dog, and Ivan flushed when he imagine that strong muscle being pressed to a much more intimate place…

He quickly coughed into his hand when Alfred looked over, hoping his feelings couldn't be read from the slight pink dusting his cheeks or the faint quivering of his hands. Alfred _had_ to know what he was doing, there was simply no other way. Scraping his throat, he gave Alfred a jerky nod.

"Are you not going to eat that?" he asked coolly, keeping his voice as much in check as humanly possible.

Alfred once more swiped that rapturing tongue of his along slightly plush lips, reddened as if he'd been softly chewing on them ( _or someone had been kissing him breathless_ ). "Eating… I thought that was exactly what I was doing?" he asked in a hoarsened voice that sent a shudder traveling down Ivan's spine.

Then he took it one step beyond, once more wrapping his lips around the tiptop of his lunch, taking in as much as he could, not even scraping his teeth along the surface as he pulled back off with short bobs of the head.

That was enough.

Ivan slammed his hands down onto the table, alerting both Alfred and those present at their neighbouring tables. With a few swift strides he had leapt around the table, yanked Alfred up by his collar, and thrown him over his shoulder.

Leaving the canteen were one angry Russian, mumbling about stupid sexy Americans and pants that were much too tight, and one very, _very_ pleased-looking American, finally finishing his corn dog with a few simple bites.


End file.
